c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(10-24)
After the eruption of unrest and war during Planet Earth’s calamitous period known as the Great Uprising, things were changed forever. The North American continent was nearly emptied of its population. Political alliances were shattered. Technological advancement was stalled. Social evolution turned backwards. And, the environment suffered damage that a century of recovery could not erase.
Cyclical storms became commonplace in this new paradigm of human existence.
As climate woes were manifested, it became normal for the entire region to suffer bouts of extreme weather, on a monthly basis. These regular rhythms were augmented by the natural progression of seasons. Life for those who survived was difficult. Their homes and communities were constantly threatened by moments of uncertainty. Yet as during eons of planetary history, living creatures prospered despite such hardships.
Dr. Judson Baines was new to this reality. But like those who had gone before, he had the sort of human ingenuity that made outlasting these challenges possible.
After being washed offshore, the Digger shuttle was tossed upon the waves like a buoy, lost in the raging waters. Alarms sounded from the instruments. Great crashes of debris made the outer hull ring with each strike. There was little visibility through the forward windscreen, or viewports. Sensors indicated that the craft was spinning wildly.
Having been battered and bruised, the university professor hung in his safety web, while manning the controls. Then, it occurred to him that the C-drive had been disabled by land drones sent from Calimex. With that threat eliminated, suddenly, he had another option to rescue himself, and the transport. After keying in an access code, he tapped at the dash with nimble fingers.
A high-pitched whine resonated through the vessel. He could feel the crystal generators coming online, as intended. With a forceful blast, the tiny ship shot upward. Cresting the turbulent, lake surface with ease. Daylight returned as it burst out of the spray. Finally, with its untrained navigator at the helm, the high-tech mule gained altitude. With every pulse of the Cloitanium reserves, it gained velocity and purpose.
Baines veered toward the sky, while running a diagnostic check. There were creaks and cracks resounding as he throttled up, toward the speed necessary for escape. Soon, vibrations shook the craft with ominous frequency. Yet he knew that lingering in the mayhem of winter would only increase his risk of perishing, alone. His once chance of breaking free, from gravity, and the woes of environmental chaos, would come with a bold, brave leap into outer space. He cursed as his battered vessel pierced the clouds overhead, and aimed itself toward oblivion, in a life-or-death gamble with everything on the table.
In orbit, the Morningstar III had been performing perfunctory chores, like re-mapping areas of the surface, and cataloging conditions in real time. The crew was somewhat bored. Even Commander Hornell Block battled a sense of ennui, while planning steps to be taken, once they had settled in as temporary residents of the global neighborhood. But when the errant, Digger shuttle appeared from a swath of gray and white, his attention sharpened immediately.
“Lieutenant Reale! Hail that craft on all channels! Is it one of ours? Specifically, the one we left behind on our last mission?”
His second-in-command nodded excitedly.
“The homing signal matches what you’ve got in our database, sir. It looks to have been through some sort of impact trauma!”
Block pounded his right fist on the communications arm.
“Digger! This is the Morningstar! Are you in distress? We have stabilized our position, and the flight deck is ready to receive cargo. Lock in on our coordinates, and prepare to be accepted...”
Static filled the air. There was no confirmation that their appeal had been heard.
Reale sat smartly in her seat at the navigation board. She repeated the plea while programming a recovery sequence that would alert their crash team in the event of a failed landing attempt.
“Digger shuttle! This is the Morningstar! We have observed damage to the outer skin of your ship. There is no time to link up for a traditional entry at the flight deck. Pilot your transporter by manual controls. We will do our best to align with your intended vector. Do you understand? Please reply!”
The C-drive emissions had turned to a whisper. With much chagrin, Block realized that the lifeboat was coasting on inertia. For whatever reason, it had run out of reactive fuel.
“Lieutenant, I don’t think he can answer us, his engines have gone dead. Maybe his battery backup, as well. We’ve got to tractor him into the reception bay. Open the flight deck, and let it rip!”
His junior aide was wide-eyed with disbelief.
“You want him to bounce into our tail sector, sir? That’ll be a messy situation! What if his shuttle doesn’t survive?”
Block cursed and gestured defiantly.
“GAWDAMM IT, HE’S COME THIS FAR! SOMETHING MUST BE WRONG, MAYBE THE STORMS WERE TOO WILD, OR HE KNEW THE SHIP WASN’T GOING TO LAST IT OUT. WHATEVER THE CASE, WE’VE GOT TO MATCH HIS INTENSITY. THAT EGGHEAD SON-OF-A-BITCH IS PLAYING ROULETTE, SO WE’LL JOIN HIS GAME, AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS! OPEN THE HATCHES, AND LET HIM INSIDE! IF HE’S WILLING TO TAKE THIS CHANCE, THEN SO AM I!”
Baines was in the dark, both metaphorically, and literally. He had exhausted the energy reserves of his metallic beast. There was no response from the helm. As a last breath of oxygen ebbed through his lips, he remembered a prayer sometimes recited by his estranged friend, Kelly Strafe. Swooning at the dashboard, he repeated it while slipping into unconsciousness.
“Eternal Father, strong to save
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave
Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea!
God, Who dost still the restless foam
Protect the ones we love at home
Provide that they should always be
By thine own grace both safe and free
O Father, hear us when we pray
For those we love so far away.”
Reale watched her monitor as the Digger slammed into a web of synthetic restraints that had been stretched across the flight deck. Sparks and smoke filled the cargo bay as it was sealed off, automatically. Then, silence followed the uncontrolled re-entry. The wandering ship had been blistered and scarred from its reckless journey. Now, it had come to rest on one side. With the nose cone compressed against an interior wall.
Commander Block covered his face and groaned. The onboard instruments had all flatlined. Every sensor registered a quantity of zero. His responsibility to lead a welcome party, or conduct a funeral, was now at hand.
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